


Going to Plan B

by ladyofrosefire



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Partners in Crime au, leverage-esque
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 13:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7533709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofrosefire/pseuds/ladyofrosefire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr drabble. Bellamy and Clarke's attempt at taking down a corrupt company, Leverage style.</p><p>Still moving fic over from Tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going to Plan B

“Ow– fuck, princess, is there something you’re itching to say to me or something?” 

Clarke looks up from the gunshot wound in his side she is stitching closed, her glare so sharp and cold that Bellamy almost flinches. “You–” she looks back down to make the next suture and Bellamy winces as she tugs the thread a little too hard, “are a _fucking idiot._ ”

* * *

_Two hours earlier_

“Quit tugging at your tie, Bellamy.” Clarke hissed, keeping her expression as neutral as she could. “You should be used to suits by now.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like them.” Bellamy replied, keeping his eyes straight ahead. “You’re sure you’ve–”

“I’ve got this.” Clarke assured him. “It’s not like I don’t know how to flirt. Just do your part fast and don’t get caught.” Then she broke away from his side, a little more swing coming into her walk as she approached their mark. “Mr. Wallace– I was wondering if I could borrow a moment of your time.”

Bellamy slipped around the corner– discretely palming the man’s ID card as he passed them– in time to hear him say “Please, call me Cage.”

Cage. Fucking douchebag name. Suited him, too. 

Bellamy checked quickly to make sure the coast was clear, and then swiped the card. The little light on the lock turned green and Bellamy slipped into the office. The inside was a truly disgusting display of wealth that he chose not to dwell on beyond pocketing what was obviously Cage’s favorite pen in what could only be described as a fit of spite. The door was heavy wood and locked automatically, so there was no need to lower any blinds. Bellamy sat down at the desk and got to work.

Computers were not his thing, exactly, but businessmen were never creative about their passwords, or they kept reminders around somewhere. Bellamy searched, found nothing, and then went to work with a huff of a sigh.

Getting onto the computer was easy– arrogant bastard hadn’t even bothered to sign out. The problem was the folder they were here for. Bellamy eyed the flashdrive he’d stuck in the USB port and took a moment to roll his eyes. Fan-fucking-tastic. Password protected files. The first step was obvious at least– find the record of the password on the computer and check _that_.Of course, the the record itself was password protected, which probably defeated the point of having it at all. Bellamy briefly considered calling tech support, or Cage’s secretary, but they were on the clock.

So he guessed.

That turned out to be something of a mistake. 

Apparently, Cage had some sort of alarm set up that silently called security if the wrong password was entered more than three times. 

* * *

_Now_

“Look, Clarke–” He reaches out and receives a sharp slap to the hand for his trouble.

“I’m not done yet.”

He doesn’t mention the fact that she is taping on the bandage as they speak. “Then listen without looking at me. We didn’t know they’d have guns, and I should have listened. You were right.”

It might have pained him, normally, to admit that, even after years together, but he had just been shot and really, if they want those files, they need to do something, and fast. Besides, he can see Clarke’s resolve cracking, and he catches her _almost_  glancing up at his face. 

“We can’t leave the Mount Weather Corp. standing.” He adds after a few moments of silence. 

Clarke’s shoulders fall, accompanied by a rush of air. “I know.”

“Call Monty?” He asks, leaning down to kiss her. 

She lets him, but pushes on his chest when he tries to deepen it. “Call Monty.” She confirms, and then fixes him with a much kinder glare, “And you _rest_.”

Bellamy lies back, aiming for a smirk and managing something far too besotted for his comfort. “Sure thing, princess. As long as you stay with me.”

Clarke rolls her eyes, and then stretches out next to him, propping her head up on one hand. “What do I get out of it?”


End file.
